My fellow comrades:I have a confession to make. As a member of The People’s Cube and The Party™ for almost five years now, I have always asserted that I am no more than 23 years old. I’m here to tell you now that I’ve been lying about my age all this time. I suspect that won’t surprise any of you any more than the identity of the scoundrel who forced me to do so. That scoundrel’s name is Willard Mitt Romney.It all started with a phone call from the Washington Post. They wanted to talk to me about an encounter I had with Mitt Romney almost 50 years ago in which he’d bullied me. I told them I wasn’t present for any bullying but I’d been troubled by it ever since, so we talked, me and WaPo, and had a productive conversation that unearthed my repressed memories of one long ago night.It was the night of the big prom. I was told I couldn’t attend unless I dressed appropriately in a floor length prom gown and dainty glass slippers, with my hair done up in a big bouffant beehive that would only make me taller than most of the boys. My ma, Yelling Yelena, couldn’t afford to buy me the required gown on her monthly welfare check made possible by LBJ. None of my uncles could help out, either, with the possible exception of Uncle Pettifogger, but she’d just had a big fight with him over my other uncles, so they weren’t on speaking terms or any other kind of terms at the moment.Furthermore, my feet were too big for dainty glass slippers, which is why I wear boots, and as you can see by my avatar, I cannot wear my hair in a big bouffant beehive because of my red headscarf which, as some of you may know from old Cube lore, I took from the neck of the dying Che Guevara as I knelt over him bawling my nose out, so I used his neckerchief to wipe my nose and then wrapped it around my head, where it’s been ever since. Or has it?I didn’t think it fair that I should be shut out of the prom just because I was poor, so I went anyway, wishing for a fairy godmother to turn my brothers into a National Guard unit to escort me, and the cockroaches in our trailer into members of the news media to record for posterity my gutsy move. I arrived at the prom and what did I see but this tall, dark and handsome guy whom everyone called Mitt. He was the most gorgeous guy I ever saw. I couldn’t help myself. I simply had to approach him. I followed him all around the gym, making googly eyes at him. Soon everyone began chanting, “Mitt has a girlfriend, Mitt has a girlfriend.” Imagine my delight upon realizing that everyone thought I, Pinkie, was Mitt’s girlfriend!To my dismay, however, Mitt didn’t seem to like this one stinking bit. He told me to quit following him around and to leave him alone. Obviously a young man of his immense wealth mistook me for a panhandler, or he wouldn’t have said such things, right? I told him, “I want to hold your hand,” and he saw me standing there, while everyone else chanted “She loves you!” Mitt pushed me! He shoved me flat to the floor. There I lay spread-eagled, wondering if I was about to be ravished. Instead he shouted at everyone, “Look at her red headscarf! What do you suppose she’s hiding underneath it? Let’s rip it off and look!”Rip off anything else of mine if you please, but not my red headscarf! Never my red headscarf! “Check out her red eyes!” Mitt chortled. “And her red nose! Hey, Pinkie, with a nose like that, I’ll bet they never let you play in any reindeer games, eh?”I’d never been so humiliated in my life. Or more terrified. Oh, the terror! The horror! The unspeakable trauma of being compared to a creature that Sarah Palin shoots and grinds into sausage links! He held up the scissors. They were long and sharp, like my screams of fright. Snip, snip! So many years later, the sound of those two blades sliding together still sends chills up my spine and down my legs. Mitt cut off my red headscarf, held it up, and whooped. Then he threw it over the basketball hoop where it came to rest over the rim. Obama would never have done that—or maybe he would after four or five shots. Mitt then strapped me down to the top of his car and drove all the way to Canada, where he landed the car in a ditch—just like a Republican! If only I’d had my shovel with me that night, I might have been able to beat him off, but I had to let my brother borrow it that same night so he could dig up something or someone and rebury it elsewhere.And now comrades, you know why I’ve lied about my age all these years. It was to hide more than just the truth of when I was born—it was to bury my secret shame. I suppressed these memories for many years, until I found out Mitt Romney was plotting to steal the presidency from Obama, and that’s when I decided it’s time for me to be brave. To be courageous. To make a gutsy call. To evolve. It’s time for me to claim my right to be a victim. I am a victim of bullying by Mitt Romney, and it is my sincere hope that by taking the great risk of opening my heart about what happened, that others will come forward and share their stories of being bullied by Mitt Romney. I want to emphasize that I’m not doing this for money, or fifteen minutes of fame, or to get free stuff. As always, I’m doing this solely to raise awareness, but it goes without saying that to accomplish that, of course I’ll need money, the fifteen minutes, and plenty of free stuff. Commissarka Pinkie is a regular contributor to The People’s Cube, and is renowned and admired by the masses for her dedication to raising awareness of how much she cares. When she isn’t busy making an issue out of everything, she enjoys spending other people’s money, occupying other people’s property, and whacking other people upside the head with her shovel.

Mitt then strapped me down to the top of his car and drove all the way to Canada, where he landed the car in a ditch—just like a Republican!Pinkie - I also dated Mitt in high school! (Do you remember me?) Here we are discussing our travel plans for a picnic in the woods. I must admit we were cruel to Mitt - even calling him 'Big Head' at times! (I appear to have the body of a small boy in this image... I don't know why!)

This is exactly the story the Washington Post is looking for! I'm sure they'll be calling you soon. I called them about it and they squealed with delight. I told them you're gay so act gayish when they call or it might queer the deal.

Commissarka Pinkie, let me be among the first to say that I feel your pain!! And also that I agree with Comrade Brain that your perception - of your age or anything else - is what counts, NOT those icky wrinkles or sagging body parts. No, not even them. Much as I feel your pain, you feel 23, and Comrade Brain - well, he'd probably feel a bit better if somebody'd squeeze a slice of fresh lemon into his jar, but that's a story for another day.

My family was Germany's 1% and had their property confiscated by the German division of Occupy Wall Street.

It was George Soros that bullied them...and he doesn't feel guilty! I mean what kind of liberal can you be without guilt????

When will dear leader make him apologize?

When will dear leader apologize for consorting with him?

When will SEAL Team 6 get Bill Ayers? He is still bullying me...

If possible can you please consult with your daughters about my grievances? You know, after you have your sexual discussions with them of course.... I am sure the can show you the error of your ways by calling these bullies your friends.

Mitt once sent his bicycle riding thugs to my hut, I told them to be off and leave us alone as we had just secured work in brand new green energy company that Dear Leader had so generously invested billions in. After 99 week vacation and party, my stipend to not work had ended. Dear Leader offered endless food stamps, but I can not buy Vodka with them.

Surely this far-fetched pranksterism is much worse than the Great Leader's own admitted (i.e. alleged) habitual drug use when he was a schoolboy, and of course we all know that eating dog could not possibly be any worse than tying one to the roof of one's car (one more reason why such personal transport should be banned!).

By our head, we will not have a prankster in the White—uh...House!

(P.S. Please consider changing the name of the "White House" due to its perceived white supremacist tone.)

(P.P.S. We have immediately sent our request for the 100 Shovel Techniques book and believe it will be one of the all-time greats of our time)

I told him, "I want to hold your hand,” and he saw me standing there, while everyone else chanted “She loves you!” From me to you, it's sad he didn't say I want to be your man, instead of "get back". Let it be, oh! darling. Here comes the sun, so just say good day sunshine. Forget the fool on the hill, Mitt is a nowhere man and the Taxman will get him soon enough. You've got to hide your love away and be happy that you are an accomplished paperback writer.

And that's just the beginning, Dig4Utopia! For he also pulled down your pants, bent the point in your tinfoil hat, then took your shovel and beat you over the head with it. That's another one of the things that inspired me to write the 32-page illustrated book in Maksim's advertisement above.

Romney stole your free school lunch vouchers because he hates the poor and he wants them to starve to death. He hated all the automotive companies because they gave jobs to union workers, so he was all for destroying them by letting them go into bankruptcy, so union workers wouldn't have their jobs anymore and would therefore starve to death. He wants to cut off their unemployment checks and even their food stamps to--yup, you guessed it--make them starve to death.

Romney is planning to steal the election in November, because he's made his fortune out of stealing stuff from other people, and he doesn't know how to get anywhere in life any other way. Millions will have their votes taken away from them by Romney because the Republicans will insist they must show their ID to vote.

Be prepared to see Romney's army of thugs at all the polling places on Election Day, ready to demand ID from anyone who ventures near. They'll be the ones on bicycles, wearing short sleeved shirts and neckties and totally lame bike helmets on their brainwashed heads.

Not only that Pinkie but Romney gave a wedgie to the whole Glee Club. The soprano section was extremely grateful.

And that poor Kopechne girl! He skated on that one too. Blamed it on one of the Kennedys. He knew she couldn't swim. Of course George W. Bush put him up to it so he wasn't totally responsible but I think I've said enough.

The uncontested absurdities of today are the accepted slogans of tomorrow. They come to be accepted by degrees, by precedent, by implication, by erosion, by default, by dint of constant pressure on one side and constant retreat on the other - until the day when they are suddenly declared to be the country's official ideology. ~ Ayn Rand

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